"I am ashamed," she whispered, "ashamed to take this money." She clasped her hands together in an unconscious gesture of supplication, and then asked, with a curious childish directness, "It is a great deal—can you afford it, Monsieur?"
"Yes," he said, hastily; the suffering, shamed expression on her face moved him strangely.
"When you next see Mr. Pargeter," she murmured, "you shall have written proof that I have carried out your wish."
She tapped the table twice, sharply,—then led the way into the larger room. It was empty, but Vanderlyn, even as he entered, saw a door closing quietly.
Madame d'Elphis walked across to an un-curtained window; she opened it and stepped through on to a broad terrace balcony.
"Walk down the iron stairway," she said, in a low voice, "there are not many steps. A little door leads from the garden below straight into the street; the door has been left unlocked to-night."
Vanderlyn held out his hand; she took it and held it for a moment. "Ah!" she said, softly, "would that I had died when I was still young, still beautiful, still loved!—"
XII.
The bright May sun was pouring into Tom Pargeter's large smoking-room, making more alive and vivid the fantastic and brilliantly-coloured posters lining the walls.